The worrier.

This is me. From birth even, I was the most anxious, fretful kid.

I hid things. Ruminated over them like a bad story you force yourself to read, just to finish it. To figure it out like some grand trouble there was an answer for. Thinking, then, it would wrap around tightly, consume, and last forever! Or become unbearable! Or I'd be in trouble! My stomach churned at every academic test, soccer game, dance performance, to the point where I'd gag. I don't know how or when I got over that. But maybe it just turned into another form of worry. Changed over like the seasons, transitioning from one state to the next. Hiding in the breeze and coming forth in the hot summer sun.

Ebbs and flows. Lays in the deeply strong, frighteningly accurate intuition I have (more, a post perhaps, about that later, I think).

Now though, this worrier girl, I'm unsure where she went or where she's been. I do not miss her, but I do anticipate her sometimes. Only this time, I can whisper, ah, there you are. I know you well.  I knew of you at a young, young age, and you weren't recognizable. A threat. I knew you as a teenager, in your early twenties, you were a terrible thing.

But now, as a woman, can identify you, worrier girl. I can ease you.


Nuptual musings and daydreams.

A sneak peek into my brain and what its waves are churning around as of late.

To veil or not to veil?

Twenty-three different categories of lists. And many a list within those lists.

Naked cakes! Bridal shower cakes! Buttercream cakes! Crepe cakes or cake-cakes?

Tweaking and fussing about our theme a hundred and one times.

Wanting to shout from the mountain peaks but keeping most things under wraps -- I choose not to make my Pinterest boards public! (Throws some kind of mood in the air.)

The gym, again and again. For those bridal arms and dress-worthy tush.

Thinking of every and all things needed to be done but wanting to watch Grey's/Friends/Dexter instead. Many times watching Grey's/Friends/Dexter instead.

Stares intently at one another. Let's just run off barefoot to the mountain's forests and get eloped amongst the sun beams and tall, tall trees. Quiet, just us, with wise mother nature. Eyes become wild with feat. Daydream some. Then continue planning our day, squeezing hands, cracking jokes, pretending we aren't subtly nervous but in an eager way. 

I am so excited.


universe threads // to feel vol. 03

I'm buzzing again.

No atom inside me can keep still. They don't want to.

I am the plants in our home, an abundance of green deep breaths and I am the crystals finding light in all the corners. Beauty there, here, and right over there.

These hands, they can do and they can make. They can embrace and pour words swirled up from the tandem dance between my heart and brain. These bits of memory flow mellifluously to you and you and you. To me. I want to grab them, knuckle white and not let a single thread go.

You see, I fantasize the cosmos letting down these long threads from where they are to where I physically am. Glowing tethers from the corners of stars. Behind them, between orbits, within. And they reach me -- little reminders of my purpose. Of what I am made of, what I can do. They flutter when I am too still. And so, here I am. Being as absolutely un-still as my body can be.